


Starforged

by Niobium



Series: Young Thor and Loki are up to no good [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Kid Loki and Kid Thor, Pre-Thor (2011), Sons of Odin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niobium/pseuds/Niobium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mjölnir was not the only thing forged in the heart of a dying star. (No spoilers for Thor: The Dark World.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Benedicthiddleston](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benedicthiddleston/gifts).



> For the 1_million_words 2013 Swap of Joy.
> 
> This is intended to be movie canon compatible, though I put a spin on Asgardians and their magic which is neither comic canon nor Norse myth, and based on what I’ve seen from novelizations is arguably a little outside of movie canon. It’s just me grooving to all the super amazing things we see in Thor: The Dark World, and doesn’t represent a deviation from either films’ events.
> 
> I decided to go in a new direction regarding Mjölnir’s forging rather than try to manipulate comic canon or Norse myth to work with Odin’s passing comment from the first film, though I did bring in some familiar names from Norse myth.

***

Loki had put out the light and been curled up in bed for only a handful of breathes when he heard an all-too-familiar, muffled, shuffling sound along the far wall of his bedroom. The noise stopped, and Thor’s whisper cut through the palace’s nighttime silence. “Loki. Are you asleep?”

 _He can’t be serious_. Loki made sure to sigh loud enough to be heard and sat up. “Not _anymore_ ,” he grumbled. Thor was shoving past the heavy wall tapestry covering the hidden passage into Loki’s room; he had a plain linen bag slung over one shoulder, and was still wearing his clothes from earlier that day.

“You weren’t asleep,” Thor said, keeping his voice low. He let the hanging fall back into place with a soft thump and dusted himself off. “If you were, I’d have startled you, and you’d have conjured something at me.” 

It was true, which annoyed Loki even more. He folded his arms, trying to strike a regal and affronted pose in his sleeping silks. “I could _still_ conjure something, you know.”

Thor ducked his head and brought the bag around, holding it open as though it were a peace offering. Loki craned his neck and saw an array of decorated cookies, a hefty travel flagon, and two handfuls of the colorful candies the head cook had made for the dinner guests. It all looked delicious, and he couldn’t possibly turn down a second helping of dessert (especially not an illicit one).

Loki huffed and waved Thor over to the bed. His brother was terrible at diplomacy, but at least he’d sorted out bribery. Thor settled himself on the edge and gave Loki half the treats, which was a generous offer coming from him, and that was how Loki knew something was afoot.

“So. What’s wrong?” Loki asked as he sipped from his drink. The flagon held sweet milk, and Thor had even thought to bring him a cup.

“Wrong? What could be wrong?” Thor sat up straighter. “Day after tomorrow I’m going to see them finish forging my focus, that’s the least wrong thing possible.”

Loki thought it was a pity Thor couldn’t lie nearly as well as he could bribe. “You’re leaving at the crack of dawn and traveling by Bifrost and then on a ship, and might even help them with the forging. What you _should_ be doing is getting as much sleep as possible tonight and tomorrow, not stealing sweets from the kitchen for us to share.” He bit a flower-shaped candy in half and savored the bitter tang. “Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

Thor dismissed the notion with a wave. “I don’t need that much sleep.”

“I think the lessonsmaster would beg to differ.”

“He may beg and differ all he likes, it won’t make him right.” Thor took a large bite of a cookie, but Loki could see that he was on to something. He turned the remains of the jewel-colored candy between his fingers.

“How close does the Bifrost go to the Forge?”

“To the harbor on the edge of the nebula, so it will take a good part of the day to travel to the Forge and back in the ship.”

They had only seen the ancient ships in books, never in person. The vessels had little use these days save for accessing places the Bifrost could not, such as the Asgardian Forges placed in close proximity to stellar cores. 

Loki wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he was savagely jealous that Thor would get to ride on one. As miraculous as the Bifrost was, the articulated dragonships were ancient artifacts from the time of the Allfather’s ancestors, and the magic that powered them was legendary. It was rumored they were living constructs, though the dwarves who built and sailed them guarded that knowledge and refused to share it, not even with the Allfather himself.

Loki shoved his jealousy aside so he could focus on teasing an explanation out of Thor. “Are you nervous?”

Thor had finished his first cookie and taken up a second, though all he did was play with it. He was some time in answering. “A little.”

Loki had expected more bluster and joking and evasions, not naked honesty. He stared at Thor, who looked up, and for a moment his brother was not a young stormbringer charging through his childhood with abandon; he was a boy taking his first faltering steps into an adult life come far earlier than anticipated.

“Father says it will be fine, but...” Loki raised his eyebrows, and Thor continued, “I’ve heard him arguing with Mother.”

“About what?”

“Whatever it is Father and I will do at the Forge. I think.”

Loki frowned. “Aren’t you just there to witness the final steps and maybe swing a mallet for formality’s sake?”

“I thought so at first. Now I don’t know.”

“What else could there be to do?”

Thor shrugged and shook his head. He ate some of his cookie and drank from the flagon, and Loki pondered. He’d been curious about all the fuss, yet it had been years since a proper focus was created, so he’d assumed that alone was worth some level of activity.

But if Mother and Father were fighting... “You’re sure they’re arguing about you going to the Forge?”

Thor hesitated. “I’ve never heard all of what they say, just bits and pieces now and then, when they think I’m not near. But it--it sounds like they’re talking about me.”

“ _What_ about you?”

“Mother thinks Father wants to do something too soon, and that someone isn’t ready. Father disagrees, and is concerned they’ve waited too long.”

Loki puzzled over the possibilities. Thor often thought everything was about him, but given that Loki hadn’t been able to persuade anyone to reveal any concrete details about Thor and Father’s trip--not even Mother, who often told him more than Father cared for--he suspected Thor might, for once, be right.

Just the same, he didn’t want Thor in on his information gathering, because he was about as subtle as a molting igarajuk, so he sought to deflect him. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Marriage proposals, maybe, or something else equally inane and benign.”

Thor’s eyes went wide and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Marriage?”

Loki shrugged. “It would just be a promising or a betrothal at this stage anyways, the marriage wouldn’t happen until you were both older.”

“I’m too young to be married.” Thor looked close to panicking.

“See? So it’s almost certainly what they’re fighting about. Don’t worry, mother will win on this one. Worse comes to worse, she’ll just refuse to approve the proposal, and that will be that. Leave it to her.”

Thor ate his cookie, as if to soothe his nerves. “Right. Of course.”

“Of course.” 

Loki didn’t think this was about betrothals, but the last thing anyone needed was apprehension preying on Thor. Nervousness tended to make his control of lightning falter, which even on a good day was (in Loki’s opinion) still dodgy at best.

Now he just needed to think of a way to eavesdrop on Mother and Father.

***

It turned out to be easier than he’d expected. Their parents had never forbade them, in so many words, from exploring the secret passages that riddled the palace, and while Loki had shared some with Thor over the years, a great many he kept to himself for his own use. One of these lead to Frigga’s personal study, where she experimented with magic, taught Loki, and researched in peace and quiet. 

He’d discovered it during his lessons with her; there’d always been a cold draft coming from behind the largest bookshelf, and when his knowledge of the palace reached a certain threshold he’d gone in search of it. After several days wandering the labyrinthine routes, he’d finally found the source: a hand-span-wide crack in the study wall at the end of a cramped access tunnel that would, in future years, be too small for him to fit through.

He’d never used it to spy on his mother before; mostly, he just liked knowing it was there. He was certain she knew of it, and equally certain she knew he’d found it, and so this unspoken secret between them felt like a special treasure. The same held true for the passage into his room, which he and Thor had discovered lurking behind one of Loki’s wardrobes as Thor was just coming into his strength. Frigga hadn’t questioned Loki’s sudden desire to put up ancient wall tapestries in the least. He felt bad now, betraying the trust of never using this passage for the more obvious purpose, but Thor’s concern and his own curiosity were too much for him to ignore.

Once most of the palace was in bed for the night, he set an illusion in his room to fool any of the servants should they peak in, then crept along the dusty, web-laden paths until he found the small carving he’d placed to direct himself. Two more turns left, three to the right, down the small slope, and he was greeted by a slash of light and a warm breath of air escaping through the gap. The shelving had been moved over the years, and he was pleased to find he’d have a narrow field of view in addition to being able to hear.

Frigga was in motion more than Loki knew to be typical for her. She would get up to check one of her books, or gaze out the window at the night sky, or use the scrying glass to view something Loki couldn’t make out. This went on for nearly an hour before his patience was rewarded, and the Allfather joined her.

Odin didn’t often intrude on the Queen’s personal study, though there was a chair Loki knew was meant solely for him. Odin would sit in it and read, or watch her work, when it suited him and she would allow it.

His presence didn’t soothe her mood this night; if anything, her agitation intensified. Loki thought he could feel Odin’s attention focusing on Frigga until the Allfather broke their mutual silence by saying, "You are restless."

"Are you so surprised?"

Loki couldn’t see them, but their voices were all he needed to hear to imagine the effects his father’s quiet irritation and his mother’s anger had on their respective countenances.

"He will be fine, Frigga."

"It is too soon."

"We have spoken of this. We do not have the luxury of time, that we may wait until he comes into this aspect of his power naturally."

"So instead you would put him at risk, and force it on him now?"

"Waiting is the real risk. He might not develop full control until he is much older, perhaps even my age. The ritual will have a greater chance of success and be safer now, when he is still young."

"Safer, and yet still not safe.” There was a rustling sound as Frigga moved, followed by the soft slide of leather on leather as she placed a tome, or perhaps took one out. “He has shown considerable improvement at controlling the storm itself. The rest will come soon enough." 

So, they _were_ talking about Thor, and Loki had to smother a snort; if Frigga thought Thor was controlled right now, he'd have hated to see her notion of _out_ of control. But what was this? Something about another aspect of Thor’s magic, and some ritual to tease it out? 

Loki shifted and found he could see their shadows from his new angle; his mother's drifted closer to Odin's. "Why would you have him harness this before he is truly ready? You know what can come from too much power given too soon."

Odin's voice sharpened. "He will not be some wild, untamed boy with no firm hand to guide him. We will train him properly, and he will learn to control it and himself."

“Loki’s control of magic is second only to my own.” An edge crept into Frigga’s voice, and his mother’s defense of him made Loki’s throat tight. 

“I did not mean that you have not taught Loki well,” Odin said, now sounding somewhat conciliatory, and Loki marveled that the Allfather was backing down. “Thor’s magic, if ever allowed to escape control, will be far more dangerous, and have much further-reaching effects. If we would prevent this, we must bring him into it now, and train him while he is still young and malleable.”

“Don’t you mean controllable?”

Loki felt the Allfather’s frustration redouble even from his hiding space behind the wall, and he tensed. There was no movement, no sound, nothing but the presence of his parents’ disagreement sucking all the air from the room. Then it abated, and he couldn’t be sure who had conceded until the Allfather said, “I trust you will not interfere with the rite.”

“I know as well as you how delicate this is. I will not endanger Thor.” 

“Good. Will you see us off tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Frigga would be seeing _Thor_ off, of that Loki had no doubt. They said their goodnights, and Odin quit the chamber. His mother stood in the middle of it, and Loki thought he could sense a great weariness gather up around her. Then she said, “Loki. Please come to my study.”

His heart froze in his chest. 

“It’s alright. I am not angry with you. Please, come and speak with me.”

For a single breath he entertained the notion of running back to his rooms, curling up in his bed, and lying, claiming he’d heard nothing. But Frigga deserved better from him, and he wanted to know what was going on, and these two things decided him.

He was able to reach a side-door that opened into a nearby hall without too much back-tracking in the tunnels. He slipped past the guards and into the comfortable room, and dispersed his shadowy disguise once the door was shut.

Frigga gestured at a chair next to hers by the large fireplace. Loki perched on the edge of it, unable to relax into the soft cushions, and she settled onto hers, similarly tense.

“How much of that did you hear?” she asked. His voice caught on the lie he’d begun to formulate, and she sighed. “Enough, I see.”

“I’m sorry, Mother, I just wanted to know what--what they’re going to do at the Forge tomorrow.”

Frigga reached out and touched a polished copper pot set on the serving table in front of them, and the water inside begin to hiss and boil. A full tea service for two was arrayed around it. Loki realized this hadn’t been meant for her to share with the Allfather--it was for the two of them. He shot a look to her scrying glass, which sat shrouded in one corner, and wondered.

Frigga’s voice brought his attention back to her. “A stormbringer’s magic is not just about weather, Loki. It is often tied to the forces of nature which drive weather. Sometimes, they may learn to control those forces directly.” She poured the hot water into two generous cups which already had diffusers sitting in them, and a sweet and spicy smell rose with the steam. 

Loki was used to their discussions of magic happening this way; the topic would seem to change, yet it hadn’t, they’d merely turned it to regard the situation from another angle, like a complex knotwork or a precisely-cut gem. “Can Thor?”

“He is not particularly sensitive to them now. This is not uncommon, because he is young, and it can be years before a stormbringer is able to learn their nuances.” Loki couldn’t help his wry smile, and Frigga shared in his amusement with one of her own. “No, nuance is not your brother’s strong suit.” Her smile faded. “There are rituals which can be used to expose a stormbringer to these forces earlier. Then they will be able to sense them and so learn to harness them that much sooner.”

“I thought compelling magic like that was dangerous.”

Frigga stirred their infusers, her expression distant. “It is.”

“But why would Father--" Frigga’s eyes met his, and the question died on his lips. Of course; what better warrior than one who could wield the very power which drove nature itself, with a focus to direct it, and the strength of Odin’s bloodline to match?

“Your brother’s potential is stronger than we have seen in a stormbringer since before your grandfather’s time. Your father wishes to be certain it does not go wasted and is properly handled.”

“Then why are you worried?”

Her gaze fell. She let out a breath and pulled the infusers from their cups, and set to preparing their tea just as they both liked it (milk and honey for Loki, only honey for herself). She offered him his cup, which he accepted with a murmur of thanks.

After they’d had time to sip from their tea, she said, “It is my nature to worry when magic and your brother are both at issue.” Loki nodded his agreement, and he thought he saw one corner of Frigga’s mouth lift for a moment before she grew more somber. “And this ritual is not without its risks, though this is the safest time it may be done. He is my son, as you are--I cannot help but worry, even if the outcome has the potential to yield great rewards.”

“Are they really necessary? The rewards?”

Frigga looked into her tea. Loki wondered if she could scry with it; it was said she could scry with almost any reflective surface. “Your father thinks so.”

“But you don’t.”

Frigga gave a small laugh. “Your father and I do not agree on everything, no.” She stirred her tea, then set it aside. “Loki. You must not tell your brother anything about tomorrow.”

Loki jerked his head back. “What? Why not?”

“Loki, please. He must go without reservation and a willing heart. Anything less, and the ritual is certain to fail.”

“Why should we let Father lead him into danger with no warning?”

Frigga’s face tightened with mingled anger and pain, and Loki regretted his words on the instant. He put his cup down and reached out, resting a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean--I didn’t mean that you and Father want to hurt Thor. Only...” Her expression eased, and he felt encouraged. “All I know of magic, all you have ever taught me, says we must enter into it with open eyes. If Thor doesn’t know what Father plans for tomorrow, how can he do that?”

Frigga glanced away, resignation and regret flickering in her face. “We make you grow up much too fast,” she said in a soft voice, perhaps not intending to speak aloud, and Loki felt a tremor pass through him. She took a slow breath, dispelling her ominous mood, and regarded Loki again. “Thor’s magic is different than yours and mine. It requires a different approach.”

Loki had lost his eyebrows enough times now to believe the first part, and he knew so little of how Thor’s magic worked that the second sounded reasonable. Still, disquiet gnawed at him. “It requires that he be taken by surprise?”

“Sometimes, yes.” Her real response went unsaid, yet Loki heard it regardless: it wasn’t required--it was what Odin thought best. 

It wasn’t as if he’d never lied to Thor before, nor kept countless secrets from him. This would just be another. But it was a rather significant one, and between himself and Mother, and he wondered what it might cost him in the long run.

Just the same, Loki promised her, “I will not tell him, Mother.”


	2. Chapter 2

***

Thor came to visit not long after Loki returned from Frigga’s study. He’d raided the kitchen again--there was a dignitary visiting from Vanaheimr, which meant another feast, and thus more of the cook’s fine achievements--and come back no less successful than before: a generous helping of tiny red fruits with pebbly skin and a bright, sharp flavor and pale orange flesh; a small satchel stuffed with candied and salted nuts; some fancy custard pastries; and another flagon of sweet milk.

“Have you heard anything more about tomorrow?” Loki asked as soon as they’d set to eating. Thor huffed a breath.

“I went to ask Mother for a book this morning, and she was scrying, but she dispelled it as soon as I walked into the room. I only saw a little of it--something dark that glowed from the inside, with a large ring around it.”

Loki raised his brows at Thor. “A book?” he asked, trying to mask his interest in the vision. What he wouldn’t have given for a glimpse into Frigga’s scrying mirror while it was in use. 

Thor sniffed. “The trip to the Forge on the dragonships is long. I wanted something to distract me.”

Loki had never heard Thor sound so defensive. “Of course,” he agreed, and Thor relaxed and sipped from his milk and continued.

“I was also hoping to catch her and Father speaking. But I think they are avoiding one another.”

“You were trying to _spy_ on them?” Loki’s surprise was real. It hadn’t occurred to him Thor would even try.

“Well, I thought it was the kind of thing you would do, if you wanted to learn something and no one was willing to tell you.”

Loki struggled with numerous reactions: indignation at being identified with such behavior (no matter how true), exasperation that Thor thought of him like that, and shock that Thor had sought to emulate him at all. 

“You should see the look on your face right now,” Thor added around a handful of nuts. Loki threw a fruit at him, and Thor caught it in his mouth. 

“Why do you think they’re avoiding each other?”

“I didn’t see them speak to one another once all day.”

“That’s not _that_ uncommon, they’re King and Queen of all Asgard. They can be very busy.”

Thor shook his head. “This is different. Also, Mother was looking at Father like she was hoping he might stumble and fall face-first into something foul.”

Loki wasn’t pleased with the improvement in Thor’s skills at observing their parents; that was _his_ territory. He also didn’t want Thor going into whatever the Allfather had planned with anything remotely like doubt, because the last thing he wanted to hear was a story of Thor blowing up an entire Forge.

So he shrugged and said, “One of the marriage proposals Father likes is probably unacceptable to Mother.”

Thor almost choked on his milk. “Do you really think that’s what it is?”

“Well, I thought I saw one of Mother’s books open to a page about Vanaheimr bonding rituals earlier, and there _was_ that delegation here tonight...”

“But I’m too _young_ to be married!”

“Not too young for a betrothal,” Loki pointed out. “Just the right age for a promising ceremony, in fact.”

Thor swallowed. “You have to help me find a way out of it.”

Loki paused to wonder if he’d taken the ruse too far, then decided, what harm could it be? They would make elaborate plans which would never come to use, and Thor wouldn’t be thinking about tomorrow at all, and walk into the Allfather’s plans as blindly as he had once reached for a storm.

They schemed late into the night. Eventually Loki banished Thor back to his room so Thor would have at least a handful of hours to rest before Odin fetched him at dawn. Loki didn’t sleep, though; he stayed up until the gray-green moon had sunk out of sight, and the sky in his window went from blue black to purple to pale blue to pink, trying to find anything he could in his books about the ancient stormbringers and their extended abilities. Unfortunately his personal library wasn’t diverse enough, and he only came up with scraps of information that didn’t amount to much.

When the horns sounded, he scrubbed his face with cold water, threw on one of his green and silver robes, and bolted out to the viewing balcony at top speed. His mother was already there, and held out her arm, which he stepped into; she looked as tired as he felt. They shared a worried glance and watched the column of riders gallop down the Bifrost: Sleipnir and Odin, Thor and his mallow mare, the Captain of the Guard, and the small contingent of warriors who would protect them should anyone threaten their journey. 

The riders vanished into the dome of the Bifrost, and the machine spun to life. The shimmering bridge shot into the dark reaches of the World’s Tree, several ripples passed across it, then it winked out.

Frigga’s hand tightened on Loki’s shoulder. All they could do now was wait.

***

The horns didn’t sound again until close to twilight. The Bifrost opened, the ripples passed across it once more, and the dome came to rest. By then Loki and Frigga were at the balcony, both endeavoring to appear calm and composed despite being neither. They’d not eaten anything all day, having subsided on tea and hope and ancient, creaking texts the entire time. First came Odin on Sleipnir, next the Captain of the Guard and most of his warriors, and finally Thor on his mallow-colored mare, with two guards who lagged behind the rest.

Loki knew something wrong the instant he clapped eyes on Thor. His brother always rode with a natural grace, and was seldom, if ever, uncomfortable or off-balance, even on the roughest, most ill-tempered of mounts. 

Not now. He sagged in the saddle, his muscles loose and his body one wrong move from falling right off. The two guards were flanking him, no doubt to catch him should the later actually occur. Frigga stiffened, and Loki knew she’d taken this in as well. She swept from the balcony to the stairs at a ground-eating pace, and he went with her, no more than two steps behind the whole way to the courtyard.

They came out onto the steps just in time to see Thor dismount; he had to use his saddle to steady himself, and swayed on his feet. Only at a quiet order from Odin did he turn to face Frigga and Loki, and gave them both a faint smile and a nod.

“You are returned,” Frigga said. Her smile for Thor was warm and genuine, yet the one she turned on Odin was anything but.

“We are, and successful in our pursuit.” Odin held up a hammer, and Loki felt the air in the courtyard warp as it moved. Its appearance was deceptively simple: the head was a beveled rectangle of dull gray metal, with raised runes and knotwork, and the handle was wrapped in red-brown leather, bound by a spiral of polished metal, and bore a finely worked end cap threaded with a strap. Then Loki turned his inner eye to it and saw much more: the hammer was a well of force and matter, more dense than anything he’d ever gazed upon, and he wondered how the Allfather could even raise it. He thought he felt a tremor pass through his mother, and wondered what she saw that he might not. 

Loki flicked a glance at Thor, and frowned; something about Thor was playing tricks on his inner vision, making it difficult to focus on him. Thor was watching the hammer, though when Odin lowered it his eyes strayed back to Frigga.

“Remarkable,” Frigga said, and regarded Thor again. “Are you prepared to celebrate your victory, Thor?”

Thor struggled to formulate his response. “Perhaps tomorrow? I’m tired from the journey.”

“Tomorrow will be plenty soon,” Odin agreed. “Go, and take your rest, Thor.”

“Thank you, Father.” Thor’s response was automatic, and he looked at each of them without really seeing them. “Mother. Loki.” His steps were hesitant as he went to the tower he and Loki inhabited, each movement labored in some subtle manner. 

One of Frigga’s hands stole to Loki’s and gripped it, though she continued to watch Thor. Odin’s voice surprised them both.

“Shall we retire?”

He had approached while they watched Thor go. Frigga released Loki’s hand, and turned to give the Allfather a long, unflinching look. Without taking her eyes off Odin, she said, “Loki, would you send a servant to inform the cooks we will be dining in private this evening?”

Loki picked through the layers in her request: Loki would be dining alone. She and Odin were not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.

And Loki would come and see her later, when she was alone in her study.

“Yes, Mother.”

***

Loki barely touched his dinner, no matter that it looked, smelled, and (based on the meager bites he did take) tasted incredible. Rather than face interrogations from the servants and cooks, he fed it to Muninn and Huginn, who were always happy to take whatever he offered from his balcony. He figured the Allfather didn’t care very much if Loki opted to give his dinner away, and might have even been impressed Loki was trying to put himself in the ravens’ good graces. (They certainly seemed to pester him less often than his brother.)

The rest of the evening slid by with agonizing slowness, and Loki had to argue himself into not setting out for Frigga’s study until the gray-green moon was one quarter of its path into the sky. His stomach was chilled with anxiety by the time he reached the side passage that let him out into a narrow hall, past two guards under the cover of a simple eye-turning spell, and into the room.

Frigga looked up from a large, ancient book with yellowed edges and thick pages as soon as he entered. She had tea and small treats--the sort meant to calm the nerves--ready for them, though he was interested in neither. He blurted out his question as soon as his spell dissipated.

“Mother, what did they do to him?”

Frigga ducked her head, sighing, and moved to her chair. “Come sit with me, Loki.” She seemed exhausted, and it occurred to him that while his evening had been spent stewing in his rooms, hers might have been one lengthy argument with the Allfather.

This realization spurred him to settle into his chair, though it didn’t do much to encourage relaxing. Frigga took up her tea and sipped at it. Presently, she said, “He will recover in time.”

“Recover from what?”

She looked to the old book, which still sat open on her reading stand. “They have placed some matter from the star’s core within him. A very small piece. His body will absorb it, which will teach him how to control the power behind the focus and thus the rest of his magic.”

Loki was sure his surprise shown plain on his face. “But--that could have killed him. It might _still_.”

Her eyes still on the book, Frigga said, “Your brother’s power has the potential to be very great. Your Father wishes it to be as strong as possible.”

The question of ‘why’ had an immediate answer from his own inner fears, ones he had only half-entertained the night before, and that answer made his guts clench: Odin needed to turn Thor into someone as much like himself as possible, so the might of Asgard would remain unchallenged.

Frigga set her tea down and reached out to stroke Loki’s hair, and he recoiled, stumbling to his feet. “How could you let Father do this?”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “Do you think I would not have stopped him if I truly thought Thor could not endure it?”

“I--” Loki tried to express everything that was spinning in his head. Father, subjecting Thor to a ritual which could have killed him on the spot, so he could one day be just like Odin. Thor, already looking and moving like someone else. His mother, forced to choose between defying the Allfather and thus throwing Asgard into chaos, or allowing Thor to undergo a dangerous rite and hope that he would still be her son in the end.

He relented and moved to her, and she pulled him into a hug. “He is still Thor, Loki,” she murmured. “He is still your brother.”

Loki shuddered against the terrifying possibilities crowding his mind. _No_ , he thought. _If he becomes like Father wishes, he will not be_.

***

Once he departed Frigga’s study, Loki wasted no time in gathering a clandestine meal from the kitchens and making his way to Thor’s room. He hoped it would be late enough that the Allfather had taken his leave, but there was really only one way to find out. 

As in Loki’s room, the secret entrance to Thor’s suite was covered by a wall-hanging, though his also had a proper door. (The only one of its kind, which Loki had been puzzling over since they’d first found it some years earlier; it had been boarded up and concealed behind a wardrobe.) He paused just short of the threshold, noting there was no light along the edges of the frame, and held his breath. When he heard nothing within, he risked sensing with his magic, and was relieved that Odin wasn’t present; only the new, strange dent Thor seemed to make in the magical fabric dwelled beyond in the room.

So far as Loki knew, there were only two keys in all of Asgard for the secret door into Thor’s rooms, which he himself had obtained from a World Machine engineer in exchange for some minor favors. He shook his out from the folds of his robe and fit it to the lock, and it made a faint whirring click. The door swung open on silent hinges and spilled warmth into the tunnel’s chilly darkness.

“Thor,” he whispered, using magic to send his voice past the heaving tapestry.

His brother’s reply was a soft murmur in the darkness. “Loki.”

Loki shoved past the hanging and risked a small light. Its meager glow cast huge shadows around the room, the most terrifying being on Thor’s face. He was leaning back against a mountain of pillows, slumped into them so that some threatened to fall forward and cover him. Loki shook his head to dispel the impression that Thor looked gaunt and stretched thin, and was relieved when the light shifted and his brother merely appeared tired.

He held up the sack he’d brought, and Thor smiled. “It’s not more vegetables and broth, is it? That’s all Father would let me have.”

Loki scoffed. “Please.” He settled at the foot of Thor’s bed, spread out the collection of treats, and poured them each a goblet of mulled cider. While they ate, Loki examined Thor with a critical eye.

Like Loki had seen in the courtyard, Thor wasn’t moving with his usual energetic happenstance; it was replaced by a measured steadiness, as though everything he did required careful thought and precision. Neither of these things were typical of him, and it seemed he was watching a stranger control his brother’s body. 

When they were done eating, Thor leaned back and sighed. Through a gap in his brother’s sleeping robe Loki spied a long, thin scar down the center of his breastbone; Thor reached up to rub at it absently.

“How do you feel?” Loki asked.

“Heavy. Like I’m being held down by something. Or like I’m made of stone.”

“Well, you’ve always been thickheaded, maybe it’s just spread to the rest of you.” The light-hearted teasing felt good; it felt like things might go back to normal.

Thor narrowed his eyes. “Once I don’t feel like this, I’ll show you who’s got the thicker head.”

Loki grinned around a drink of his cider. “Is it difficult for you to talk?”

“Not really. I’m just tired. Why?”

“Because I want you to tell me about it. All of it.”

Thor let out a slow breath and nodded, and though it took most of the night, he did.


	3. Chapter 3

***

Thor had never ridden the Bifrost so far in his life. The World Tree sped past them, too fast to be anything other than impressions, and he knew by the duration of their voyage that they were moving into some of its oldest depths. The bridge deposited them onto an open, circular, platform of a hard, gray and white material that absorbed the Brifrost’s energy without being scarred. From there a short set of stairs led to a smooth, black pathway that took them into the harbor proper.

The buildings and moorings clung to the edge of a dense nebula of green and gold and blue, held aloft by a construct similar to (though much smaller than) that used for Asgard itself. A brilliant, silent surf boiled and turned where the energies that supported the harbor met the nebula and diverted any of its stronger tides of dust and gas. The buildings were made of the same materials as Asgard’s palace and even had similar architecture, and Thor might have spent more time examining them were it not for the articulated dragonship sitting at one of the docks. 

It was easily twenty times the size of the skiffs which protected Asgard. The scales shimmered rose and silver and copper, flashing in the nebula’s shifting light, and covered the entire body. The torso was a three-decked boat with cushioned benches set at the center of the upper floor and a black staircase leading below. A proud drake’s forequarters formed the prow, with black, spiral, swept-back horns, glowing, white eyes, and long whiskers, while the stern tapered into hindquarters and a black-finned tail that waved in a stellar wind only the ship could sense. It held its legs close to its body, and the feet were tipped with large, black talons.

“Magnificent, isn’t she?” Thor looked up at Odin and nodded, unable to find words he thought worthy of the ship. “My grandfather’s people rode them between the stars in the days before the Bifrost. Now, she is one of only six.”

Though the Bifrost was both convenient and powerful, Thor thought the dragonship was much more impressive. “Does i--does she have a name?”

From the back of the deck, a strong voice called, “She is the _Heavenly Wanderer_ , Thor Odinsson.”

Odin raised his hand in a greeting to the dwarf woman who’d spoken. She had olive-toned skin, blue-black hair in a crown braid, and stormy gray eyes, and was standing on the aft deck next to a rune-etched console that came to her waist. She returned Odin’s gesture, then waved at the metal gangplank that lead on board. “Come, we should be off. The dust is calm.”

Thor charged up the plank and went straight to the foredeck. Odin joined the ship’s captain at the helm, and the guards filed in after him, setting themselves along the gunwale at regular intervals. The captain gave a sharp order in the dwarven language, and the ship’s nostrils flared and she snorted, shaking her immense head. A thin whine started somewhere below Thor’s feet, growing until it became a heavy droning sound, and the vessel pulled away from the dock and turned towards the nebula’s heart, writhing like a sea serpent. 

The great engines that propelled the ship filled her deck with a low hum as they wove through swirling eddies of stardust and gas. Thor entirely forgot the book he’d borrowed from his mother and was content to spend the trip staring at their surroundings or the ship’s swinging head. Nebular waves swelled and shrank, rocking the ship and sending plasma sparking along the shields on the rare occasions they connected; it was a testament to the captain’s skill that this didn’t happen more often. Despite the duration of their journey it was too soon for Thor’s tastes that they passed the last band of dust and entered the thin gap of open space that lay between the nebula and the remains of the star which had formed it.

The stellar core was a dim, small shape suspended in the distance. It revolved at a pace close to that of Thor’s heartbeat, and its dark crust was crazed with red and orange cracks. Faint, yellow light bled from it in complex patterns that teased some part of Thor’s mind, and for a moment he thought he could see blue, arcing lines reaching out from the core’s surface and doubling back on themselves. He blinked, and they were gone, and no matter how hard he stared he didn’t see them again. Odin moved to join him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and Thor stared, trying to memorize every last detail.

A flat platform ringed the core at a modest distance, turning counter to the star’s direction and at a much slower pace. It was brassy colored and covered with runes that rippled red and black where power pulsed through them; these no doubt formed the shields protecting the structure from the star’s forces, much like the shields produced by Asgard’s World Machine and the ship’s engines.

The Forge proper was a two-story, gleaming structure covering a segment of the platform, no larger than one of Odin’s hunting lodges; the star-ward side had no wall, while the outward facade was ornately decorated with knotwork and runes that crowded around a broad archway exiting onto a narrow dock. 

Eitri, dwarf and Master Smith, greeted them with an enthusiastic wave as the ship slid into the shield and came to rest along the mooring. His skin was darker than the Captain’s, and his hair had long since given over to white and shades of gray, yet his eyes were the same color and their faces were shaped similarly. Thor wondered if they might be related, but neglected to ask.

As soon as he stepped foot off the ship Thor thought he could feel his blood moving through his body in time with the star’s revolutions. He looked around at the others, not understanding how they could walk and talk and carry on like each turn of the star didn’t threaten to knock them over. He realized that Odin was scrutinizing him, and made a show of greeting Eitri with as much energy as he could muster. The dwarf clapped him on the back, laughed, and gestured to the archway. As they walked, Thor gave the ship a backwards glance, and saw that the tail and head continued to writhe, like she was impatient to be off again.

Upon entering the Forge they came to a wide, turning, stone staircase. The interior had been laid out with an eye towards giving a view of the lower level while passing to the next, and Thor kept his steps slow so he could take in as much as possible. Runes and knotwork glowed on almost every surface, carrying magic throughout the building like glimmering veins. Stacks of armor, weaponry, and building materials were neatly arranged along the walls, some of them packaged for transport. 

Beyond this collection, flush to the open face which granted access to the star, was the foundry, where matter was harvested and manipulated until it formed something the smiths working on the upper level could use. A broad dwarf stood at the very edge of the building; her sharp, precise gestures pulled a thin stream of searing matter out of the spinning core, unwinding it from a crack in the crust like a thread forming from a distaff. Her motions sent it to an anvil that looked to be made entirely of will and magical force, where another smith coiled, braided, and folded the matter with runes and swings of a mallet by turns, shaping it into raw material. They let Thor watch this process for some time, then urged him the rest of the way up the stairs.

Here they met Brokkr. He shared more than a few of Eitri’s features, though was clearly the younger of the two. He also greeted Thor with a heavy hand that nearly sent Thor sprawling; the dwarf brothers had a good laugh with Odin about that, sobering only when Eitri gestured to another anvil. This one appeared to be metal and rune-carved, yet the runes swam over its surface with ease, as though it were made of water. Eitri proved its solidity by setting a rectangular-headed hammer on it with enough force to make the room shake.

Odin took the weapon by the handle, testing the heft and balance. This went on for several minutes while Brokkr and Eitri waited, eager for the Allfather’s judgment. It came in the form of a satisfied nod, and Eitri grinned, fierce with victory. Brokkr, however, cast Thor a brief glance, and said to Odin, "Shall we see to the last of it, then?"

“We shall, Master Smith.” Odin set Gungnir into a rack and moved to the edge of the room, where the core’s meager light flickered and danced. Brokkr called a sharp order to those working below, and the glowing stream withdrew back into the star. 

This was where Thor’s memories became muddled. He remembered Eitri bringing forth a knife with black blade, thinner than any Thor had ever seen, so thin he wondered how it could cut anything. He remembered Brokkr’s thick, calloused hands cutting two lengths of golden thread from a long skein with that knife, and threading one of them into a bright white needle.

Odin spoke, his hands raised and the runes of his magic shining in the air, and Thor stared as a tear formed in the star’s crust, exposing a churning liquid that boiled and writhed like brilliant blood. The core’s surface shivered and warped, and a tiny spot shot out of the opening towards them. Odin slowed the approching thing with a word and a gesture, and as it drew close Thor saw its shape warp into a jagged shard a little larger than one of Odin’s thumbs. It stopped at the shield, and Odin reached through and pulled it into the Forge. 

As soon as the shard was in the room Thor felt like he was at the bottom of an ocean; he had to drag in each breath, and an immense pressure was trying to push him to the floor.

“Thor, come.” Odin’s voice cut through the haze of confusion, and Thor was lost enough that doing whatever the Allfather said seemed natural. Every step felt like it took a year to take, and centuries seemed to pass before he found himself standing in front of Odin.

Brokkr was braiding the other length of golden thread around the handle of the hammer. Eitri was handing the knife to Odin. Odin was speaking runes so ancient they sounded like no dialect of the Nine Realms Thor had ever heard. His father shoved open a small space in his shirt just over his heart.

The knife didn’t hurt going in, and even more strange, there was no blood (and strangest of all was Thor’s complete lack of a reaction). Odin held the shard up and said more in the unfamiliar language. For no reason, Thor was reminded of an afternoon on a hilltop, when a storm had leaned down to whisper a secret in his ear, and Loki had shoved him to safety. 

Odin reached forward and tucked the shard into the gash in Thor’s chest, then sealed it with the needle and shining thread and a final rune. Thor’s heart beat anew. He sucked in a breath, and a tenuous strand of power pulled tight between him and the hammer. 

The star’s last furious gasp exploded in his mind.

***

He was young when the universe was young. He was one of the first to exist here in the boughs of the World’s Tree, blazing eye-searing yellow and shoving aside the darkness where his light touched. He watched others burst into life, some of them dim and small, others enormous and bright like himself, and every size in between. The branches and leaves of the tree grew and spread, and they were the blossoms, red and orange and blue and white and yellow and brown.

They all grew older, and one by one they entered into the next stages of their lives. He came to his sooner than many of his siblings, as those like himself tended to: he was to cast out what he had made of himself, the fruit of the World’s Tree let loose to seed the universe’s growth. He shed the outer layers of his being and sent the matter out into the cosmos so it could feed that which would come next. All that was left of him was his tiny heart, hard and taunt and spinning and still glowing, with heat now rather than light.

He stayed this way for ages, watching others come and go. Some of the older ones withdrew even further into themselves, and the World’s Tree gathered them back up and made them the backbones of new branches.

He waited. That would not be his fate, he knew. He was meant for something different.

The universe grew old, and so did he. Tiny things came, specks of dust that couldn’t hope to shine more than a moment under the shadow of the Tree. They wished to take of him; his heart was, after all, the flesh of the World’s Tree in purest form, and they could use it to fashion anything.

He did not deny them. It would have been easy to kill them all for their presumption, but he sensed opportunity. It was one thing to give form to a branch or merge with the trunk and strengthen it, and it was another to travel the World’s Tree and see its great width and breadth and taste the universe in that journey. The dust did that; it flitted here and there, unbound and free in its brief existence.

They dismantled him, a little here and there, and the pieces went into many things. They built themselves small leaves and twigs, ways to move between these places, trinkets to make their fragile existences more permanent. It was fascinating to see what his heart became, but he withheld the innermost part, continuing to wait.

It was not much longer before one came seeking that part. This one knew his nature, and understood what still lurked in his depths: his purpose. A memory of the primordial World Tree, it was the seat of his power and the purest form of potential. This one wanted to place his purpose into two others, that they might learn from it and use it to their own ends, and he knew at once that _this_ was what he had been waiting for. Not to live life again nor be used to built it, but to _drive_ it, to lend it strength and will and reshape the World’s Tree as he had when he was young. 

It made its motions and sounds, manipulating his energies, and he acquiesced with a heavy sigh. His purpose burst free of him and drained away in a rush, taking root in the others and leaving only his dead and withered heart behind.

***

Thor didn’t remember much after that, just fragments of thought and images. The stellar core had changed in some subtle way he couldn’t fully grasp, and no one else seemed to notice or care. It looked the same and still seemed to spin in time with his heartbeats, but the color of the matter streaming into the foundry was fainter, and the pressure he’d felt since their arrival had a new dimension to it, like it pushed through him as well as on him.

He watched Brokkr and Eitri finish their work on the hammer, etching the runes and knotwork into it and wrapping the handle in fine leather. (The golden thread, he noticed, was gone, from his chest and the handle, and he couldn’t understand what that meant.) At Odin’s insistence, Thor closed his hand around the hammer’s handle and felt _something_ deep inside of him pulse in response, but when he tried to move it he couldn’t. Odin didn’t seem disappointed by that; he simply hefted the focus himself and nodded to Brokkr and Eitri.

The next thing he knew they were on the ship and making their way back to the harbor. He stood at the foredeck, staring out over the dead star’s nebula as it poured by. His heart was heavy in his chest and his body felt oddly shaped, like he’d put it on wrong. He wanted to stretch his hand out and feel the stardust flowing through his fingers, but of course that was nonsense; it wasn’t dense enough for that, and anyways the ship’s shields wouldn’t allow it.

He wasn’t sure he imagined the ship’s great head tilting to look back at him for a moment as he thought this.

Traveling the Bifrost was far more overwhelming than it had ever been before. He could feel the energy of it pushing and pulling him in strange and uncomfortable ways as they roared back to Asgard, and when they came through he almost fell right off his mare. She adjusted to keep him seated, as she’d been trained to, and Odin caught him by one arm and straightened him. Once Thor was able to stay in the saddle, they rode out of the dome and along the bridge to the courtyard, where Loki and Frigga were waiting.

***

Loki contemplated Thor’s tale, and Thor watched him with half-lidded eyes. After he’d had sufficient time to think on the details, Loki glanced around the room. “Where is it?”

“Father says it’s to stay in the weapons vault until I’m ready to use it.”

That was unfortunate, if unsurprising; Odin had to know there’d be no way Thor could resist the temptation to try the hammer as soon as he could get out of bed again. It seemed any experimentation would have to wait.

Loki asked, “So you couldn’t lift it?” and Thor shook his head. “And Father could?”

“Yes. Though, I think he might have been using magic.”

“Well, it’s a focus, that’s reasonable.”

Thor’s brows furrowed. “It is?”

“A focus isn’t just something you hold and swing around in people’s faces, Thor, it’s called a focus for a reason. To work properly, you have to use your magic with it and _through_ it.”

Thor squinted at him, and Loki wondered how long it would take for Thor to have the strength to remove his eyebrows again. He gave himself a week at most. 

“I know what a focus is,” Thor said, sounding petulant. “But why would I need to use magic to even hold it?”

Loki shrugged. “It’s made from a star’s heart, Thor. That’s the purest matter in all the World Ash. No one could move that by sheer strength alone--not even Heimdall, I think.”

Thor sighed and rubbed at his chest. “I guess I’ll have to get stronger.”

“You’re not listening,” Loki said, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice. “It’s not that it’s heavy. I mean--yes, I’m sure it is, but that’s probably not why you can’t move it and Father can. However you’ll wield it, it won’t be with just the muscles in your arms. I bet you could pick it up right now if you knew the way.” Loki nodded at the mark on Thor’s chest for emphasis. “I’m sure _that_ has something to do with it.”

Thor seemed unconvinced. “Well, I’ll get stronger too. Just in case.”

Loki rolled his eyes. He finished the last of his cider and toyed with his goblet. “It sounds like it was dangerous.” This was as close to ‘I’m glad you’re okay’ as he was willing to go, though Thor seemed to understand. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

“I think it was. Maybe that’s why Father didn’t tell me. He didn’t want me to have a chance to be afraid.”

“Well, you weren’t, so that was foolish of him.”

Thor gave Loki an uncertain glance. “Because I didn’t know what was happening.”

Loki felt the deception he and Frigga had agreed to prick at him, and realized he was old enough to suspect it was the first of many. “Father doesn’t always know best, Thor. He makes guesses just like the rest of us. I think he should have trusted you to be brave.”

Thor looked down at his blankets and nodded. “Well. It’s done, so, I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

 _It matters more now than it ever has_ , Loki thought, though he cast aside the brief flash of melancholy as quickly as it had come. There was no point in mourning what hadn’t yet happened. He said, “I’ll help you figure out how to pick it up. It can’t be _that_ hard.” He couldn’t help himself; the taunting tone slipped into his voice automatically. Thor’s answering frown was predictable and therefor a relief, despite what it might meant for Loki’s hair in the coming days.

“I know very well how to wield a hammer.”

Loki began to gather up the remnants of their meal. “Then it should be easy to do, and I’ll expect you to finally make some strides in catching up to me.”

“Catching up to you? _You_ don’t even _have_ a focus.”

“That is because I don’t _need_ one.”

Loki felt static electricity flare in the room, making the hair on his arms stand on end. Thor started to sit up, and Loki held out a hand to forestall him.

“Do _you_ want to be the one to explain to Father why you got out of bed before he allowed it?”

Thor’s expression grew more dire, a fine counterpoint (Loki thought) to how he fell back into the pillows. “Just you wait. If I can direct lightning with it, we’ll see who has to do the catching up.”

Loki arranged the goblets in the bag so they wouldn’t clank and threw it over one shoulder. “Even if you can direct lightning with it, you’ll still need to learn how to aim properly.”

Thor’s voice dropped to a growl. “I think I know someone who will make a fine candidate for target practice.”

Loki retreated to the tapestry, lifting it aside and unlocking the door. The very last thing anyone needed was for Thor to summon lightning inside his room. (He’d done it once before, when he’d caught Loki leaving a particularly slimy and disgusting bug in his bed; they’d wound up doing the most menial stable work Father could think up for an entire season.)

And yet it was still impossible to resist his own nature. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said, and chased it with an ingratiating smile.

“Get out!” Thor wasn’t strong enough for yelling, so the order came out as a hoarse squeak, and he threw a pillow at Loki to emphasize his wishes. It flumped against the tapestry as Loki ducked through the door and shut it. 

He stole back to his room, leaving the bag in the passage—it wouldn’t do to be caught with it—and slid back into his sleeping clothes and under the covers, yawning. He had maybe two hours before Mother roused him for his lessons. 

As he fell asleep, he suppressed a shudder against his fears from earlier. Only time would tell how this would change Thor, and there was nothing he could do about it save remain his brother. 

He would, therefor, need to trick him more often, and hope that would help Thor learn humility and mindfulness.


End file.
